


Intro to BDSM

by AgentInfinity



Series: Porn!AU [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood, Blowjobs, Depression, Dirty Talk, Dom!Jehan, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Edging, Flogging, Immobilization, Knifeplay, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Pre-e/R - Freeform, Restraints, Spanking, kink discussion, porn au, safe sex, sub!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is discovering his kinky side with a lot of help from his newest bestie, Jehan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intro to BDSM

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So, enjoy 9000 words of smut from the pre-e/R era. Also, Jehan is my evil baby, and I love him. I hope you do too. All mistakes are my own, though the characters are not. If you find a mistake, let me know. Heed the tags. Enjoy!

Grantaire knocks frantically and tries to wait, but his mind is too manic, so he knocks again. When Jehan opens the door, he has a lazy smile on his face despite someone trying to break his door down at what-the-fuck o’clock at night. He steps back and allows Grantaire to walk past him and into his living room.

 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he says quickly, stalking to the middle of the room and stopping there. Jehan just blinks at him.

 

“Good evening, R,” he says good-naturedly, smile returning. “May I offer you some truly potent weed?” he asks. Grantaire gets a good look at him. The lithe man has flounced back down on his couch and is holding up a pipe, bowl already packed. He’s shirtless, his lean but formidable muscles from the staggering amount of martial arts he practices on display. What is most noticeable, however, is how amazingly blitzed he is. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy-lidded, his posture matching that of the two languid tabby cats flanking him on either side of the back of the sofa. 

 

Grantaire takes the pipe and sighs, sitting down beside Jehan and disrupting one of the napping cats. Either Byron or Shelley. They both look very similar, and Grantaire isn’t feeling particularly observant at the moment. Jehan sparks it for him, and he inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can without coughing before slowly exhaling it back out into the room. After a few moments of silence, he takes the lighter himself and sucks more of the sweet smoke into his lungs. Jehan was right; this shit is _effective_. He sighs and slumps further into the couch.

 

“There, there. That’s better. Now, what was it you said? You’ll do something?”

 

“The knifeplay. I’ll do it. Let’s do it.” Since Grantaire met Jehan four months ago, he’s been discovering all sorts of new things about himself. Mostly things that have to do with his kinks. Grantaire had plucked up the courage to actually go to a BDSM club, dubbed Entre Nous, and Jehan coaxed him out of the corner about twenty minutes in and made him feel comfortable and included. Jehan is one of the club doms there, and he did not get to that position without reason.

 

Before Jehan and their interactions in the past few months, he had only ever dabbled with a few one-night stands. Spanking, ties for bindings, being held down, etc. Jehan had listened to him and given him his number at the end of the night, offering to help Grantaire explore if he wanted to.

 

Grantaire had waited three days, mostly because it was midterms and he had about five projects due, but also because he was equal parts terrified and exhilarated. Never had he seen so many people unashamedly flaunting the kinks they enjoyed. He had thought his desires were shameful, too deviant to acknowledge, things to be pushed down and ignored. However, he was a creature of curiosity and the curiosity inevitably won out in the end.

 

He is so glad it did. Jehan is one of the loveliest people Grantaire has ever met. He’s furiously caring, hedonistic in the best ways, and quick to love. He inspires others to adapt these qualities in his presence because to be around him is to strive for his acceptance. (Acceptance that is freely given but can be snapped away in a heartbeat if prompted. There’s a reason he’s also a great dom.)

 

Befriending Jehan is one of Grantaire’s best life decisions, hands down. Funnily enough, he actually seems to enjoy Grantaire’s company. He considers Grantaire his friend as well for some unknown reason. Grantaire knows he isn’t worth it, and doesn’t deserve anything, let alone a friend like Jehan. He is certain he will fuck it up eventually, but for now, it’s nice to have Jehan. Despite not being _in_ love with Jehan, Grantaire does love him.

 

That said, Jehan is a truly punishing force when it comes to their scenes. He told Grantaire up front that two of his major turn-ons were tears and fear, and he was not kidding. He has the ability to break someone down so completely, that when he builds them back up, it’s like becoming whole again. He’s only gone that far with Grantaire once so far, but it was something he needed hours to come down from.

 

Also, he just simply likes hurting people, and Grantaire apparently likes to be hurt, so it works.

 

“You decided to come here at,” Jehan glances at the clock, “twelve fifty-three to tell me you would like to do knifeplay?” Jehan fixes him with a dazed but direct look.

 

“Um, yes.” Grantaire takes another hit and tries to focus, which works about as well as it sounds like it would. “I wanted to do it tonight.” _That_ startles a laugh out of the other man.

 

“Grantaire. R. Darling. I am fucking high as shit right now. There’s like a you and then a fuzzy you around you. And you’re well on your way to the same state. I’d likely cut you to death and accidentally take myself out as well.” Grantaire hands him back the pipe.

 

“I know. I just needed something. I, well, I fucked up today. Or like every day for too long. Or a bunch recently,” he rambles.

 

“What do you mean?” Jehan, bless him, is squinting at Grantaire and trying his hardest to focus on Grantaire’s words.

 

“I got kicked out of school today.” Grantaire knew it was coming. He’d been on academic probation for the entirety of the previous semester. In some stunning fit of manic passion, he had finished all his projects for that semester and pulled down almost all C’s with a few B’s sprinkled in for good measure. So, his probation was lifted until after midterms this semester when he was failing every class. It had just been a matter of time, but the letter and subsequent meeting that made it a reality had hit him unexpectedly hard.

 

Further still, he has to vacate his student housing by the end of the month, and his on-campus job is gone, meaning the forty-seven dollars and eighteen cents in his bank account is all he has to his name.

 

So, yeah. He came here looking for something, anything to get out of his head for a night.

 

“Oh, R. I’m so sorry,” Jehan says, fingers running a light caress across Grantaire’s arm. “Would you like to cuddle?” he asks. Grantaire absolutely would, so he nods. Jehan shuffles a bit, putting the pipe on the coffee table and sliding up to lean against the arm of the couch. Grantaire presses himself to Jehan’s side and allows the warmth and heady scent of weed to calm his tempestuous mind. The crawling feeling under his skin lessens to a slight buzzing as Jehan hums something unrecognizable but soothing.

 

They drift there together in the silence, Jehan dozing off somewhere around three and Grantaire following suit soon after.

 

Bright, morning sun seeps in through the slots in the window shades, casting a yellow glow over the room. Jehan stretches and yawns before tugging Grantaire in more tightly and pressing a kiss to his temple. Grantaire smiles in spite of himself and opens his eyes to see Jehan blinking sleepily down at him.

 

“What time is it?” he asks before remembering that it doesn’t matter anymore. He has no job and no classes to attend. He is finally the very definition of a waste of space.

 

“Early. And I know what you’re thinking with that look on your face, and you’re wrong. You’re awesome, and I love you.” Grantaire sits up and wipes a hand down his face, trying to calm his nerves and not continue his freak out from last night.

 

“Come on, you. Get up,” Jehan swats at him lightly with a throw pillow. “We’re taking a shower and then having breakfast and then having a conversation.” This is good. Things to focus on are good.

 

Jehan leads the way down across the open room to the doorway in the corner that leads to his unfairly large bathroom. The apartment is open and airy, with a lot of oddly-shaped windows and bright, billowing curtains. The main room contains the living room, dining area, and kitchen, the latter of which is cordoned off by a wooden bar. The bedrooms and bathroom are connected to the main room by antique white wooden doors, each one with a different design and knob. Somehow, Jehan’s eclectic taste, impeccable eye for design, and budget fed by his many interior design clients have all come together to make one of the most calming areas Grantaire’s ever had the pleasure of being invited into.

 

The bathroom continues the theme of bright accents and pale walls. A claw-foot tub sits in the middle of the room, a tempered glass shower stall stands in one corner, the toilet, sectioned off behind a changing blind, sits opposite, and two porcelain sinks line the wall adjacent to the door. Jehan strips his pants off, revealing his lack of underwear, and tosses them into the laundry bin. He turns on the water in the shower, twisting the knobs back and forth to get the right temperature, before turning and stripping Grantaire with business-like yet familiar touches.

 

Grantaire allows Jehan to wash him, relishing the scraping of nails against his scalp, calmness settling over him like a warm blanket. When he’s clean, he picks up the shampoo and inclines his head toward Jehan.

 

“Shall I?” he asks. Jehan smiles warmly and nods.

 

“If you would like to,” he replies, no intentions coloring the inflection of his voice. If Grantaire didn’t really want to, Jehan wouldn’t mind, nor would he hold it against Grantaire.

 

But Grantaire wants to. It gives him more to focus on, less time for his brain to kick in and start him panicking again.

 

So, he soaps up Jehan’s shoulder-length hair, rinsing him carefully to avoid any suds falling into the other man’s eyes, and lathers his body up with the sandalwood and lavender body wash that was just used on him. He works slowly, thoroughly cleaning Jehan, and stepping out of the way when he’s finished to let Jehan rinse himself.

 

Jehan turns the water off and steps out first, wrapping a fluffy, tan towel around his hips and tossing a second one at Grantaire’s head. Grantaire laughs as it lands on his face, and rubs it over his hair and body quickly.

 

“You left some clothes here last week. I washed them for you,” Jehan offers, opening the linen cabinet and grabbing a stack of black fabric and denim.

 

“Thanks.” Grantaire takes them and slides them on, feeling much more content than he thought possible. Part of his brain is still screaming insults and hurling insecurities, but the other part, the part Jehan is taking care of, is as happy as a fat cat in a sunbeam.

 

Grantaire offers to make breakfast, and Jehan nods, going to the coffee pot and flicking it on. The fridge is a tad bare, but Grantaire finds enough for some cheese and mushroom omelets. He fries them up and plates them, carrying them over to the little dining table by a large triangular window.

 

Once the food is settling in their stomachs and they are both on their third cup of coffee, Jehan leans back and sighs, his coffee mug held in both hands just under his chin.

 

“So, my brain has supplied me with a fuzzy memory of you asking me to pull my knives out on you last night,” he states matter-of-factly before taking another sip from his mug. Grantaire stops pushing the uneaten remnants of a couple mushrooms around his plate and sets his fork down, resting his elbows against the table.

 

“Unfortunately, yes. I did that.” He doesn’t look up.

 

“Communication is important here, R. Tell me what was going on in your mind.” Jehan sets his mug down and leans a forearm against the edge of the table. His features are open and imploring, and overall, friendly. Grantaire isn’t sure how he does it, but Jehan has the uncanny ability to make almost anyone comfortable. He could make a killing as a therapist.

 

But, Grantaire supposes he kind of already is one. Not officially, but, hey. Good doms are apparently great listeners.

 

“I know. I remember.” He sighs and tries not to fidget. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

 

“You know I don’t,” he says, standing and grabbing Grantaire’s pack and lighter from the coffee table and bringing it back to him. He settles back into the same position and waits patiently for Grantaire to do a couple cycles of _inhale, hold, exhale_.

 

“Okay,” Grantaire starts, glad his hands have something to do now. “When you brought up knifeplay last week, it just surprised me. I’m kinda intrigued by it, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Researching and stuff. But, yesterday was a bad day, and it hit me after I left the campus, that I’m gonna be homeless soon, and I don’t even have fifty bucks to my name, and I have no job, and no one will want to hire me, and it spiraled.” Grantaire takes a few breaths and smokes for a bit. When he starts again, he makes sure to look Jehan in the face.

 

“I wanted to get out of my head, and you mentioned how intense knifeplay can be, and I—I don’t know. I just fixated on it.” Jehan watches him closely as he drops his smoke in the cooling dregs of his coffee.

 

“How are you feeling now?”

 

“Still a little off. Nothing like last night, though.”

 

“And you are amenable to incorporating some knives into our play?”

 

“Yes, but I have some caveats.”

 

“Please, then,” Jehan opens his palms to Grantaire and waits.

 

“No blindfolds or gags. I want to be able to see you at all times.”

 

“Understandable. What else?”

 

“No lasting scars.” Jehan nods.

 

“Of course not. Anything else?” Grantaire thinks on it, but nothing comes to mind.

 

“No,” he says, lighting another cigarette and wishing for a drink. He hadn’t taken the time to go back to his (soon to be not his) apartment last night to grab anything. He had come straight to Jehan’s in hopes of another type of release.

“Have you slept with anyone but me since your last test?” Grantaire shakes his head.

“Nope. Have you been with anyone but me since your last one?”

“No, I was tested last week. I’m clean. When was your last drink?” That’s a weird question, but Grantaire shrugs.

 

“Yesterday afternoon. Right after my meeting at the school. I walked around for a long time after that. Ended up here,” Grantaire finishes quietly, looking down at the table.

 

“I’m always glad to see you, R. And you can always come to me about anything. Alcohol thins your blood, though, so it’s best if it’s been twenty-four hours since your last drink before we do anything.” Grantaire glances back at the clock on the kitchen wall.

 

“So, we’ve got six hours to kill.”

 

“Looks like. Let’s talk some more about what I’d like to try with you. You will tell me if any of it sounds like something you’d like or like to skip, yes?” Grantaire nods. “Excellent. Now, are there any parts of your body you’d like me to skip over with the knife?” Grantaire thinks on it, his second cigarette is nearly down to the filter, so he drops it in his coffee mug as well.

 

“My hands. And nothing behind my back.”

 

“Noted. No hands and full visibility at all times. Anything else?” Grantaire shakes his head. “I want you to tell me the second something feels off. Talk all you want. If you think you might need to stop, then safeword immediately. That’s important. If I think we should stop, I’ll end the scene myself.” Grantaire starts to object, wants to say that he knows what he can take and what he can’t, but Jehan waves him off with one hand up. “I know you know yourself, R, and I trust your instincts, but knifeplay can bring out some nasty things with some people, and if I start to feel uncomfortable, I’m going to safeword. I’m allowed to do that too, you know,” he adds with a little smile.

 

“I know that. I’m sorry.” Grantaire is beating himself up for implying that Jehan wasn’t allowed to use their safeword. He feels so stupid.

“No apologies necessary, R,” he taps Grantaire lightly on the arm. “Now, I usually go for extreme immobilization when I use blades. It helps keep my partners from squirming too much or jumping unexpectedly, which as you can imagine, can result in disaster. How do you feel about that? We’ve come close to the level of restraint I’m talking about, but never met it.”

“Like, how much is extreme?” Grantaire asks. Jehan stands up to demonstrate. Grantaire settles in for a long, but not unpleasant conversation.

 

***

 

At noon, they order delivery lo mein and orange chicken and spend the next couple hours watching old monster movies and passing food containers back and forth. Sleep comes over Grantaire all at once after he’s eaten, and he drifts with his head pillowed on Jehan’s lap, slender fingers winding themselves lightly in Grantaire’s hair.

 

He wakes around four, feeling relaxed and loved. They’re both in the same positions as when Grantaire fell asleep. The television has been switched over to Law and Order reruns, but Jehan is sleeping with his head against one shoulder. Grantaire tries to get up without waking him, but as soon as he moves, Jehan takes in a deep breath and yawns, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

“Afternoon, R. Good nap?” He stands up and stretches out his back, sighing happily when it pops. Grantaire stands too, headed toward the bathroom.

 

“Great nap. Be right back.”

 

Grantaire takes a moment as he washes his hands to splash some water and his face and look at himself. He doesn’t like to look at his reflection very often, but he gives it a good once over now.

 

His nose is crooked from multiple breaks, and he has a few minor scars, thin, white lines here and there, nearly imperceptible. His eyes are wide and dark with a seemingly permanent darkening under them from too much drink and not enough sleep. He supposes he isn’t hideous, his vast number of previous one-night stands are evidence of it, but he doesn’t like to look at himself. All he sees is failure and insignificance.

 

The calmness from hanging out with Jehan dissipates, and he feels the jitters from the day before creeping back up on him. He dries his face and returns to the living room where Jehan is waiting for him.

 

“How are you feeling?” Jehan asks him.

 

“Anxious.”

 

“About?”

 

“The stuff from yesterday. Being a failure. Not good enough.” Jehan stands and comes over to him, placing his warm hands firmly on either side of Grantaire’s face.

 

“Listen to me, Grantaire. You are not a failure. School isn’t for some people, and that’s okay. Your art is much more beautiful than most art school grads’ I’ve seen. You’re gonna do great in life. I know it.” He releases Grantaire’s face and hugs him, speaking into his neck. “If you need a place to stay, I’ve got plenty of room here. You can have my spare room for as long as you want it. And as for money, I have an idea about that, but that’s a discussion for another time.” Grantaire is intrigued, but he lets it go. Jehan steps back and smiles.

 

“Would you still like to do a scene today?”

 

“God, yes. I need to.”

 

“Is the knifeplay still on the table for today?”

 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Jehan grins at him and stands a little straighter. 

 

“Excellent. I’ve got to prepare a few things, so I’d like you to go into the bedroom, strip completely, and lie down on the bed face up and eyes closed. Do you understand?” Jehan’s voice has taken on the authoritative tone Grantaire loves. It makes Grantaire feel at ease, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything.

 

Also, it’s totally fucking hot.

 

“Yes,” he replies simply. He might enjoy this, but he still prefers to push back sometimes. Jehan raises his eyebrows.

 

“Do you remember the rules?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“That’s better. Colors?”

 

“Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop.”

 

“And what color are you right now?”

 

“Totally green,” he says, smiling. Jehan waits. “Sir,” he adds.

 

“Hmm. Alright. Go on then.” Grantaire heads for Jehan’s bedroom, and opens the door. The room is painted cream with lavender accents and flowing, translucent drapes sweeping the floor over the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Jehan lives on the outskirts of the arts district. His building was repurposed about five years ago, turning an older, vacant office building into open floor plan apartments. The building speaks to the artist in Grantaire. It feels old and weathered, like an elder who’s had a full life, but with just enough modern accents to make it feel at home in the current times. 

 

Grantaire slips his clothes off and folds them neatly, placing them on the corner of the dresser. The bed has been made up with a black and gray floral print duvet, but a truly hideous, clashing, four-block patterned quilt lay over the foot of it. Grantaire leans down to look more closely, reaching a hand out to touch it. It’s soft and worn, old but well taken care of.

 

Its very Jehan. For someone with such a great eye for design, his eccentricities come out at the oddest of times and strangest of places. The square Grantaire’s fingers are touching feature cows next to a square covered completely in green and pink polka dots.

 

“I pieced that quilt when I was seven with my grandmother. I chose the fabrics and sewed the blocks together, and she quilted it.” Jehan sets a tiny tray of items covered by a blue sterile towel on the dresser by Grantaire’s clothes and turns to him. “I believe I gave you instructions, dear.”

 

Grantaire scrambles onto the bed and lies down, eyes shut.

 

“You’ve been naughty already, haven’t you? Forgetting my name and ignoring my instructions,” Jehan says, moving around the room, opening drawers and placing things on the bedside table. That voice, god. He is already hard and nothing’s even happened besides him admiring an ugly quilt.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Grantaire hadn’t meant to disobey quite so much, the quilt had thrown him, but he didn’t regret it. Yet. That was part of their dynamic. Grantaire disobeyed and Jehan put him back in line. Hard.

 

“I’ve changed my mind. Flip over on your stomach. I think some correction is in order.” Grantaire turns over and rests his cheek against the pillows, eyes still closed.

 

“Lift your head,” Jehan says quietly. Grantaire can hear him pulling the pillows off the bed and tossing them to the floor. “I’m going to blindfold you. Color?”

 

“Not for the knifeplay?” Grantaire asks, knowing he should trust Jehan, but unable to stop the question. The bed dips on Grantaire’s left as Jehan settles beside him.

 

“No, this is about your punishment. I won’t go against your wishes. You’ll be able to see me plainly when I use my knife on you.” Jehan runs a reassuring hand over Grantaire’s arm. 

 

“Green then.” Thick, black fabric is pulled over his eyes and secured tightly at the back of his head. His nose isn’t covered, but the material is wide enough that the light is completely gone.

 

“Come up on your hands and knees.” Grantaire does, shivering when Jehan runs an appraising hand down his back from nape to ass. “Now rest your head down on your arms. I want your ass up in the air.” Once more, Grantaire obeys, trying to slope his back the way Jehan likes, his mind a tangle of questions about what’s going to be hitting him. Flogger? Cane? He’s not even warmed up yet, so nothing too formidable, right?

 

“I’m going to spank you until I think you’re adequately repentant, and you’re going to count them for me. Color?” Oh, well, Grantaire can do that.

 

“Green.” The first smack falls quickly, hard enough to sting the left side of his ass, but not especially punishing. “One.” The next few fall in the same way, his ass warming up under Jehan’s hand. The seventh one actually makes Grantaire flinch. The arch falls out of his back for a split second before he corrects his posture.

 

“Count that one, R,” Jehan says lightly, teasing.

 

“Seven.”

 

“Good. Hold still for me,” Jehan reminds him. The intensity builds as the blows continue. Grantaire holds his position as well as he can, but he’s still wriggly.

 

By the time he gasps out a breathy, “Thirty,” his ass and thighs are on fire, and his erection is long gone. He can feel his backside radiating heat into the room like a furnace, and the lack of any restraints are making it difficult for him to feel balanced. It’s very difficult for him to hold positions without any tangible immobilization.

 

“How are we feeling?” Jehan asks, a smile in his voice.

 

“Sorry, Sir. Very sorry. Sir.” Grantaire quickly rasps.

 

“I thought so, but I think you need a few reminders from the flogger. Just to be sure.” Grantaire groans but keeps his ass up in the air as much as he can. “All the way down on your stomach.” 

Grantaire gratefully slumps down, trying to work the stiffness out of his joints as much as possible before he receives any more instructions. “Arms up. Hold onto the headboard. You are not to let go at any point unless instructed otherwise. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire says to the bedspread.

“Color?”

“Green.” The blows begin on his ass and thighs, reigniting the flames there. He moans, half pain, half arousal. His cock gives a half-hearted twitch and tries to harden against the silky fabric beneath him. Jehan swings in one continuous figure eight motion, moving from his thighs to his ass and up to his shoulders before heading back down again.

“You’re doing very well, Grantaire. I’m sure you’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Jehan is slightly out of breath from the constant swinging, but he sounds exhilarated. One truly punishing blow falls on Grantaire’s left ass cheek, and he cries out. “Well?” he asks again.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I’m getting off on it, Sir,” Grantaire babbles helplessly. His fingers are white-knuckling on the twisted metal bars of the headboard. He’s not sure he could let go if he wanted. The voice in his brain is repeating, ‘ _don’t let go, don’t let go, be good, be very good'._ He knows if he lets go and starts waving his hands, that everything will stop. They negotiated their nonverbal safeword from the beginning, but, Grantaire doesn’t want it to stop. He wants everything to keep going.

Suddenly, the blows stop and a hand reaches down between Grantaire and the bed, grasping his rock hard cock. Jehan laughs, mocking amusement in every sound.

“I should have known how much you’d love this. How much you’d love it when I hurt you. I bet you would let me beat you bloody for hours, and all you would do is beg me for more.” Jesus fucking christ, Grantaire is slipping, sliding quickly into that headspace that makes him hazy and so, so eager to please. Jehan slides up onto Grantaire’s back and straddles him, grabbing a handful of Grantaire’s hair and jerking his head back until he is bowed backward as far as he can. Still, he doesn’t let go.

“I think you’d even come from it, without one touch to that cock of yours. I’d beat you while you rutted into the mattress like a greedy dog and came over and over. I’d keep going until you couldn’t possibly come again. You’d beg me for that, wouldn’t you? You’d _plead_ and cry for it, wouldn’t you?” Jehan is whispering so closely to Grantaire’s ear that his lips are dragging against it with every word, and Grantaire can’t move, he can’t think, he is so utterly _owned_ that all he can do is swallow around a dry throat and gasp out the barest of noises.

“Yes, Sir,” he manages. Tears are leaking into the fabric of his blindfold, and somewhere in his dopamine-addled brain, he knows that Jehan is loving it.

“That’s right. You’re all mine, and I’m going to use you however I want. If I want to beat you until I can’t raise my arm, I will.” Jehan climbs off him and the flogger starts up again, but not nearly as harshly. “If I want to fuck you into next week, I will. And, if I want to keep you from coming,” the flogger hits the bed next to Grantaire and hands are on his hips, stilling them from humping the bed, “I will.” Grantaire is panting, great heaving breaths that leave him dizzy. The hands on his hips release him, but he doesn’t push his cock into the mattress again. He lies perfectly still and just breathes.

“That’s my good boy,” Jehan murmurs, and Grantaire smiles at the praise. Jehan begins kneading his hands into the sore flesh of Grantaire’s ass and thighs, pinching and scratching intermittently as he goes. Grantaire just moans at the pressure that puts on his cock and tires so very hard to stay still, to be good.

“If you could have anything right now, what would it be?” Jehan asks quietly, not stopping as he moves his attentions up to the reddened skin of his shoulder blades.

“To suck you off,” Grantaire says without hesitation. Jehan hums happily and sighs.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Jehan stands and unfastens the blindfold. Grantaire blinks a few times, adjusting to the light in the room, dim even as it is. The curtains have been pulled across the windows to mute the evening sunlight filtering through them. Jehan hadn’t turned on any room lights, but it was still bright enough for them to see.

“Can you kneel here beside the bed?” Jehan asks, stroking a loving hand through Grantaire’s hair, letting his fingertips brush the nape of his neck.

“Yes, Sir.” Grantaire takes a few seconds to flex his fingers, ignoring the static-like tingling in them in lieu of coaxing his stiff joints to bend enough to get off the bed. Jehan gives him time, and moments later, he’s kneeling in the floor between Jehan’s legs, looking up at him as he frees his erection from his pants. Jehan’s cock is long and slender like the rest of him. Grantaire’s mouth falls open as he gazes up at Jehan, waiting for his instructions. Jehan grins and wipes at a residual tear as it falls down Grantaire’s cheek.

“Color?”

“Green,” Grantaire answers.

“Hands behind your back, dear,” he says. Grantaire obeys immediately and is rewarded with Jehan guiding the head of his cock into Grantaire’s waiting mouth. Grantaire slides his lips up and down, using his tongue to put pressure on the underside of Jehan’s prick with every upstroke. Hands grasp at his hair and drag him down, down, as far as he can go until he’s swallowing around the head. Jehan tips his head back and moans, holding Grantaire there until his lungs burn for oxygen and more tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

He finally allows Grantaire to pull back enough to suck in a couple breaths through his nose before holding his head firmly in place and lifting his hips to fuck Grantaire’s mouth. With every forward snap of his hips, Jehan hits the back of Grantaire’s throat, murmuring breathy encouragements the entire time.

“Yesss, take it, just like that. Mmm, perfect.” Grantaire focuses on the ripple of Jehan’s abs as they tighten each time he thrusts. Minutes, hours, who knows how long later, he comes straight down Grantaire’s throat. He swallows instinctively, trying not to struggle when Jehan holds him fast, the hair leading downward from his belly button tickling Grantaire’s nose. Eventually, he pulls back, and Grantaire slumps, hands still behind his back as he heaves big breaths straight into his grateful lungs.

After a few moments, Jehan refastens his pants and stands, grasping Grantaire around the throat and pulling him up to his feet. Jehan kisses him hard, tongue brushing the top of his mouth as he tightens his hand around Grantaire’s throat until pressure builds up insistently behind his eyes. Still, Grantaire leaves his hands at his back. Jehan leans back and smiles wide, letting go of Grantaire.

“Perfect, just perfect. Like you were made for me,” he says softly. Warmth blooms in Grantaire’s chest and he smiles back at Jehan.

“Thank you, Sir,” he replies.

“My, you’re feeling polite today. I like it. You’re very welcome, love.” Jehan steps back from the bed and gestures toward it. “Lie down on your back.” Grantaire does, resting in the middle, every muscle relaxed despite his lack of orgasm thus far.

“I’m going to fasten you to my bed. Wrists, chest, abdomen, legs, and ankles. Color?” Grantaire feels a sharp spike of fear, but it’s not without a mix of excitement, so he decides to go with it.

“Green.” Jehan nods and starts unrolling straps looped beneath his mattress and attached to the bed frame. Grantaire’s familiar with these, his wrists and ankles having been restrained this way before, but he’s never before been immobilized so completely. He closes his eyes and breathes as Jehan buckles his wrists into the cuffs attached to the nylon straps. He does Grantaire’s ankles next, pausing to ask for a color.

“Still green.”

“Good. I’m going to do your legs now.” Grantaire opens his eyes and watches as Jehan stretches a strap across his thighs right above his knees, tightening it and buckling it down as well. “Color?” Grantaire wiggles his legs tentatively, feeling very little give. He remembers the conversation they had earlier about Jehan not wanting any sudden movements when he was doing knifeplay. Grantaire decides he’s still okay.

“Green.”

“Great. Just two more.” Jehan makes quick work of the straps across Grantaire’s belly and chest. These last two are a bit less restrictive to allow for deep breathing, but still effective. Jehan asks once more for a color after he’s finished. Grantaire tries again to move his body but is largely unsuccessful. He waits for any panic or anxiety to hit him, but he feels mostly comfortable. He’s contained in a way he never is in the real world. Instead of spiraling through life, tilting dangerously through the void, he is completely here in this moment, unable to go anywhere or think about anything but this.

“Green, Sir,” he replies, assuredness clear in his voice. Jehan nods, smiling at him, beaming really, and goes to the dresser for the towel-lined tray. He brings it back to the bedside table and sets it down, flipping one side of the towel up and revealing a pair of black leather gloves and the knife. He pulls the gloves on without ceremony and picks up the knife gently, bringing it closer to Grantaire’s face and letting him get a good look.

The knife itself isn’t ornate or dramatic. The handle is polished silver, curved simply but elegantly to fit Jehan’s hand. The hilt is rounded in the same manner as the handle, engraved with a flourished ‘J.P.’ on the underside. The blade is about seven or eight inches long, beveled and sharpened dangerously on one side, the other side flat. The tip of the knife curves upward just slightly into a gleaming point.

The sun is steadily sinking below the horizon, so Jehan flicks on the lamp beside the bed, flooding them both with soft light. The knife glitters merrily as Jehan moves it this way and that, inspecting it with an almost lazy air.

“Color?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Grantaire. Grantaire’s body gives a little shiver, but he is unable to move much beyond that.

“Green,” he breathes out.

“Excellent. We’re going to play a game now. It’s very simple, just one rule. No matter what I do, you are not to move. Not even a twitch of a muscle. If you do,” he twirls the knife easily in one hand, “there will be consequences. Understand? ” Grantaire takes a deep breath in and exhales harshly. His cock is hard enough to cut diamonds.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let’s get started then.” Jehan kneels over him on the bed and lays the flat side of the blade against the skin of Grantaire’s temple, sliding it downward over his cheek. The coolness of the metal startles him, but he doesn’t move. Jehan’s eyes are intense, flicking between his reaction and the path of the knife. He turns the knife so the flat side of the tip is against Grantaire’s neck just below his ear and drags it down and across his throat, scraping lightly over his adam’s apple. He can feel the drag of it against his stubble and wills himself to not swallow. He stops breathing altogether as the tip finds its way back up to his other ear.

He drags his gaze up to Jehan’s eyes before the knife touches him again and finds them blazing. Grantaire sucks in a breath at the intimacy of this. Jehan just clucks his tongue at him.

“Careful, pet. Remember the rules. I don’t think you want to lose this game.” Jehan smirks at him, and runs the backside of the blade across Grantaire’s clavicles, dipping the point into the hollows above them. Grantaire lets his eyes slip closed, wondering whether keeping his open or shut will make it easier to hold still. The point of the knife drags a bit more heavily across the flat plane of his left pectoral muscle, enough to scrape but not break any skin.

Grantaire concentrates on shallow breaths, moving as little as possible as the knife runs across his chest, down his abdomen, dips into his navel and over his left hip bone. Jehan alternates between the flat side, the tip, and the unsharpened backside of the blade. He never uses the sharpened side unless he’s scraping laterally across Grantaire’s skin, but even then, that’s when he uses the least pressure. Just a whisper of a danger.

Grantaire never once loses his erection, his cock is leaking against his stomach, jumping ever-so-slightly with every beat of his pulse. Jehan drags the flat side of the knife down the underside of it and Grantaire stops breathing completely. He watches as Jehan slips the tip lightly over his balls and then back across to his right hip. The tip of the blade slides outward to his outer thigh, and that’s when it happens. His leg twitches just a bit, just once, but it’s enough for Jehan to notice. His eyes flick up to Grantaire’s and he grins.

“Uh oh. You broke the rule.” Jehan places just the tip of the knife against Grantaire’s chest and slides it laterally, scratching just enough to break the skin. Tiny beads of blood rise to the surface. It barely hurts, but the untold threat of it, _that’s_ what gets him. In his rational mind, he knows Jehan would never really hurt him beyond the level of a cat scratch. He can see how fucking careful Jehan is with every movement calculated and precise.

On the other hand, he is completely naked and unable to move and there is a guy threatening him with a knife. He meets Jehan’s gaze with his own that he knows is slightly fearful. Jehan only grins.

“Tell me what you feel, love,” Jehan says, huskily.

“Afraid. But turned on,” Grantaire manages to say.

He is definitely still hard. He’d feel really fucked up right now, but he’s currently more worried about the mischievous-looking Jehan wielding the large knife.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he asks. The knife returns to the same spot on his thigh, and he successfully tamps down the urge to twitch.

“Better,” Jehan says, continuing downward to his knee and lower leg. When he reaches Grantaire’s ankle, he slides off the bed and meets Grantaire’s gaze briefly before running the flat of the blade against the bottom of Grantaire’s foot. Grantaire’s whole leg spasms. Grantaire can tell Jehan was anticipating that because he’s an asshole, but also because he pulled the blade completely away from Grantaire once he began moving.

“Tsk, tsk, dear. That was a bad one.” Jehan climbs back up the bed and straddles Grantaire’s hips, putting pressure on his erection and making him groan. “Better hold still,” he says, the blade caressing Grantaire’s throat once more before giving him another scratch across the other side of his chest. “I think one more is appropriate for the intensity of the movement, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire says, gritting his teeth and trying very hard not to raise his hips the little bit he’s able to increase the friction between his cock and Jehan’s clothed crotch. Jehan makes another line of tiny, bloody beads below the first one with the tip of the blade. He moves a little and Grantaire moans wantonly, unable to stop his hips from trying to shove up into Jehan.

“Oh, you really love this, don’t you? You love it when I beat you, you love it when I choke you, and you love it when I cut you too. You’re so needy, that you’ll happily take anything I give. Isn’t that right?” Jehan grinds his hips downward into Grantaire’s cock, and sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine, bright and sharp.

“Yes! Yes, Sir, oh my god, please,” Grantaire begs. Jehan digs the tip of the knife lightly across his right clavicle, the biting pain nothing compared to the pleasure of Jehan against his cock.

“Please what? If you want something, you have to beg for it like a good boy,” Jehan says in a low voice, almost a threat.

“Please can I come, oh god, please. I need to come, please let me,” Grantaire babbles. He keeps going, unable to stop the flow of words. He’s on fire from it, and it’s suddenly all he can think of.

“No, I don’t think so. By my count, you’re losing the game. So, _no_ ,” he emphasizes the word with another delicious press of his hips that is too much and not enough at the same time, “you can’t come.” Grantaire lets out a sob he didn’t know he was holding. Jehan stays sitting on him, but moves down to his thighs so Grantaire’s cock stays completely untouched. Tears are still leaking from his eyes and running into his ears.

“Tell you what,” Jehan says, toying with his knife unconcernedly and not looking at Grantaire at all. “I am going to use your cock as my own personal sex toy, and if you stay still like a good toy until I’m done with you, I’ll let you come. If you move, I’ll leave you here tied up and aching all night.” Grantaire just nods. He can’t speak just now.

“Color?” Grantaire swallows a few times, but manages to speak after a moment.

“Green, Sir.”

“Good boy.” Jehan sets the knife down carefully on the tray and slips off his gloves. He pulls a washcloth, some condoms, and bottle of lube out of the side table’s drawer and coats his fingers in it. Then, he straddles Grantaire’s hips once more, facing away this time, and begins to prep himself. Grantaire’s brain short-circuits.

Jehan is prepping himself right there in Grantaire’s face. He can’t imagine ever having the courage to do that so unashamedly. It is one of the dirtiest and hottest things he’s ever seen. His cock continues to leak onto his abdomen as he watches two then three fingers disappear into Jehan’s ass. Jehan is moaning unabashedly, fucking himself on his fingers right on top of Grantaire.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, pulling his fingers out and wiping them with the washcloth. He opens the condom, and winks at Grantaire, placing it in his mouth and sinking down over Grantaire’s cock. When he comes back up, Grantaire’s entire body is stiff and tight from the effort not to thrust upward into Jehan’s mouth. Once Grantaire’s condom is on, Jehan’s slides one over himself. For a second, it doesn’t make sense, but then it does. He doesn’t want to come over Grantaire’s cuts.

“Good job keeping still,” he says, pouring more lube into his hand and slicking up Grantaire’s prick. “Let’s see if you can continue the good behavior.” He sinks slowly down onto Grantaire’s cock, his head tipped back and mouth open. “Oh, yeah, you’re perfect,” he says breathily. He sinks down completely in one agonizingly slow motion and then just sits there for a long few moments. Grantaire’s body is still rigid. All he can think about is snapping his hips upward as much as he’s able into that tight heat. He groans, eyes shut tightly.

Slowly, Jehan begins to move, and Grantaire understands the true meaning of agony. He doesn’t move. He _doesn’t_. It’s his mantra. ‘ _Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move. Be good, be very good, and you’ll get to come. Don’t move, don’t move, don’t fucking move._

Jehan begins to pick up speed, and before long, he’s riding Grantaire so hard, Grantaire is bouncing as much as his restraints will let him. Jehan is stroking himself and slamming downward, fucking himself on Grantaire’s cock like Grantaire isn’t even there. Like he’s straddling a dildo.

Grantaire’s hands are clenched around the straps on his cuffs, his breaths are punctuated with short bursts of _ah, ah, ahs_ , and his toes are curled. Jehan is tight and hot, and _perfect_ , and jesus fucking shit, he is not going to win this, he can’t, he absolutely cannot win.

Suddenly, with a shout, Jehan comes, clenching around Grantaire with such intensity, that Grantaire cries out.

“Don’t you dare come, not yet,” Jehan threatens breathlessly. He rides out his orgasm with shallow up-and-down motions before pulling Grantaire completely out of him. He walks, albeit shakily over to the trash can and disposes of the condom. Grantaire can’t breathe. He can’t move. He has never wanted to come so badly in his entire life, but he will be good. He’s good. He can do it.

Jehan comes back to the bed and lounges on his side against Grantaire. He trails a finger over Grantaire’s balls and up the underside of his cock. He circles Grantaire lazily and strokes. He doesn’t say anything, and it takes Grantaire a moment to understand what’s expected of him. So, he lets go and words come tumbling out of him.

“Oh god, please, Sir, please, _please_ , can I come? I’ve been so good, I didn’t move, please can I come now? Please, oh god, I can’t stop. I can’t, I’m going to,” Grantaire babbles helplessly. He can feel it. His orgasm building quickly low in his belly and spreading. “Please, _please_ ,” he pleads brokenly, deliriously.

“Yes, come now,” Jehan grips him tightly and tugs once, twice, three times, and Grantaire is coming. Starbursts of pleasure run up his spine and throughout his limbs. He shouts, and he’s crying, but he can’t help it. It feels so, so good. Jehan continues to stroke him until he’s twitching uncontrollably from the aftershocks and overstimulation. He drifts. Jehan is talking to him, but his muscles are liquid and his bones are jelly, and he will happily stay here in this bed forever.

When he regains consciousness, he’s unrestrained, and Jehan is cleaning his scratches.

“Hey, there you are. How are you feeling?” He rubs some ointment into the last scratch and covers it with a bandage.

“C’mere,” he says, not remembering why his voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming. Maybe he has. Jehan grabs the ugly quilt from the foot of the bed and covers them both, pulling Grantaire tightly against him. The quilt is heavy and warm and perfect.

“Talk to me, Grantaire,” Jehan says softly, sliding a hand through Grantaire’s curls. Grantaire presses his head into the hand and sighs.

“I’m good. I think. I just need this. Touching.” Jehan continues stroking Grantaire’s hair and doesn’t do anything but hold him tighter when Grantaire starts to cry. He murmurs words of comfort to him until he quiets.

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers, on the edge of sleep.

“You’re welcome. And thank _you_. You were perfect. You were the most beautiful sight.” Jehan kisses him on the forehead. “Go to sleep, R. I’ll be here when you wake.”

***

When Grantaire comes back into consciousness a second time, he groans. His back, ass, and joints are sore, and he needs something to drink.

“Here. Drink this.” Jehan hands him a glass of apple juice, and he gratefully gulps down half the glass. “How are you feeling?” Jehan keeps sliding his fingers up and down Grantaire’s arms, fingertips making lazy circles as they go.

“Sore, but calmer than I’ve been in like months, I think.”

“Good. Anything you need to talk about? Anything you liked? Didn’t like?” Grantaire sips more juice and thinks.

“I don’t think I can do anything that intense very often, but I liked it all. Even the talk of you beating me and cutting me and me letting you.”

“I was a little apprehensive about it at first, but you seemed to be in the perfect headspace for it, like we spoke about earlier.”

“Yeah. It was good. I need food, though.”

“First, I need to put some cream on your back. Then we can eat.”

“Fine,” Grantaire huffs, but rolls over without being asked. Jehan treats his back and offers him a soft t-shirt and some loose pants. They eat leftover takeout and watch bad reality television with little conversation. The silence is comfortable, though, like most things are with Jehan.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jehan says, after a couple hours of white people yelling at each other on the TV.

“Sure, what’s up?” Grantaire always worries when people lead with that statement, but he tries to feign nonchalance. He takes a sip of the beer Jehan had offered him a few moments earlier and waits for the bad news.

“Nothing negative, I just wanted to ask you how you liked that scene we did at Entre Nous last month. The one where people were watching us?”

“Um, Well, I liked it. It was weird at first, but after the first few minutes, I forgot about the people watching. I just focused on you. It wasn’t hard to do,” Grantaire shrugs, wondering where this conversation is going.

“What do you know about my jobs?” Okay, this is not a discussion Grantaire can follow.

“You do interior design work, and set design sometimes, right?” Grantaire thinks he remembers something about writing poetry, but he can’t remember if Jehan has anything published, so he doesn’t bring it up.

“Yes, I do set design work sometimes. For porn shoots. Specifically speaking, for Fetish. Have you heard of that company?” Grantaire nods.

“Yeah, I’ve seen some of their shoots,” he says, still lost. He discovered them a few months ago, right before he went to Entre Nous for the first time. He didn’t have a computer for his first year at school, but he saved up enough to get one by his sophomore year. So, he’d explored the vastness of internet porn like any other nineteen-year-old.

“So, would you be interested in doing some shoots for them? You’d be good at it, I think. And it would help you learn a lot. There’s no pressure here. I haven’t mentioned you to anyone, so don’t worry if you don’t want to, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a little while. The pay isn’t bad either.” Grantaire thinks for a second, wondering if Jehan wants him to pay rent in order to stay with him. He asks as much.

“No, R, I don’t want you to pay me to stay here. I honestly think you’d enjoy it, and I definitely think you’d be good at it. Just think about it. You have all the time in the world to answer. And if you decide you don’t want to, there’s no hard feelings. It was just a thought.” Jehan lets Grantaire think in silence for a while, but eventually claps him on the shoulder lightly and stands.

“You don’t need to make a decision tonight. Let’s go to bed and sleep in late tomorrow, and then you can ask me anything you want once you’ve slept on it.” Jehan leads him to the bedroom and they get under the covers. Grantaire rests his head on Jehan’s chest and sighs contentedly. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like Jehan in his life, but he’s sure as fuck glad he did it.

He can’t sleep, though. Jehan’s question leaves him with a whole host of internal dialog.  
Could he be a porn star? Jesus, where to begin with that? Would he be good at it? How bad would it be if he messed it up? How do they handle a safeword in the middle of a shoot? Would he be fired?

“Grantaire, love. Stop worrying. Just sleep tonight. Worry about everything else tomorrow,” Jehan admonishes sleepily.

“Fine. This is your fault, though,” he says.

“I know, you can fight me tomorrow over it.” Grantaire chuckles. Like he could ever beat Jehan in a sparring match. Jesus, the man is like Mr. Miyagi. Only way hotter. He smiles to himself and lets his mind drift toward sleep. The steady sound of Jehan’s heartbeat follows him all the way down.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed! Jehan is the kind of dom I love and the kind I strive to be. Kudos make me smile, and comments make my day! Come visit me on tumblr at agentxinfinity.tumblr.com. <3<3


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